


One flesh

by GamblingDementor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamblingDementor/pseuds/GamblingDementor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wedding of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark, from the perspective of the bride. OS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One flesh

The Lord of Winterfell would be arriving within the hour, and the Lord of the Eyrie not much later. Catelyn had heard watchmen shout it to the men within Riverrun and had begun to peek out of her window, watching out for the arrival of her recently betrothed, still far away. She found herself remembering other times when she was much younger, and sat at that window, watching her father leave and come back days, weeks later. How many men were going to be half present in her life, constantly traveling and leaving her behind, left to embroidery work at her window, waiting for them? She knew that Lord Stark would be gone within the fortnight, as would her father, when she would have become Lady Stark. She muttered a quick prayer to the Mother, asking her for the strength to face the life that would be hers soon - that of a woman grown. She suddenly wished she had gone to the sept before the wedding, before her life changed. The septon always helped her put order in her thoughts.

Catelyn donned her best gown and a thin woolen cloak. She breathed quite heavily as her handmaiden tied the laces and forced herself to calm down. She put her maiden's cloak on the bed, ready for the ceremony that afternoon, and sent the girl away. I am a Tully of Riverrun, she told herself. Family, honor, duty. I will not be a disappointment to anyone. She fastened her brooch − a silver leaping trout − and went on her way.

The hall of Riverrun was packed with old knights, servants and curious peasants. The northmen were still half a league afar, they were told. A whole army. Catelyn recalled a different time a northman had come to see her. She gulped, shaking her head lightly. It would not bode well to think of Brandon on her wedding day. She was to marry his brother and be faithful to him only. Yet Brandon's wild laughter rang in her ears, and she could still picture him promising her not to hurt Petyr. He had been a handsome man and she had been looking forward to her wedding. Would Eddard Stark be of the same blood as his wolfish brother ?

Her pulse was beating fast, and faster still when she heard the gates opening and men marching to the hall. Finally, the guards opened the doors and Eddard Stark was the first in line to enter the hall. He greeted her father, then asked for bread and salt, and refreshment after their long ride south. His eyes never met hers, and his mouth did not smile. She could not bring herself to smile either and looked down.

He was … plain. Much plainer than Brandon had been. His hair was shorter and less shaggy, and he was as quiet as his brother had been wild. She never heard the words he exchanged with her father. The day went on and she kept wondering what kind of man Eddard Stark was. She managed to get back to her room by the time Lord Arryn arrived, letting her sister have her moment of glory, and giving herself some time to breathe. Finally, as she wrapped her maiden's cloak around her shoulders, she came to the conclusion that however good or disappointing his heart and character may be, she would do her duty and raise his children well. 

Septon Osmynd smiled at her kindly as her father brought her to her future husband, Lysa on his other arm. She did not want him to be wary of her and gave him a meek smile. On her right stood Eddard Stark. 

She found herself unable to pay any attention during the ceremony, the whole time watching her betrothed, and by the time he leaned to kiss her, she thought she saw a trace of a smile on his mouth. His kiss was brief and soft, the kiss a knight would give to a rescued princess, though he was no knight. She met his dark grey eyes and they shared their first look at each other as husband and wife.

Her sister's vows were tangled with her heavy sobs, and Catelyn wanted to hug her and tell her it was going to be okay − although she was sure of no such thing. Lord Arryn was an old man, and Lysa had never wanted to be married in the first place. What about you, she thought, you never yearned to marry this Eddard Stark. You never even saw him before, never looked upon his face until this morning. For all you know, Lysa might grow to love Lord Arryn, and you might find that your husband is a cold and dark man.

Both brides took their husband's arm and they made their way to the wedding feast. Lord Stark let the older groom lead them. He was hardly hiding the affection and admiration he held for Lord Arryn, and it gave her a surprising joy to see such feelings so plain on his face − he had been so stern so far that she could have thought him as cold as his province. At the banquet, both lords sat on each side of the Lord of Riverrun, and Catelyn and Lysa sat next to their husbands. The dishes were scarce, for there were not many guests, but they were worthy of the great alliances the marriages were forging. 

Lord Eddard Stark spoke little and less and seemed lost in his thoughts, looking far away from anyone at their table. Catelyn did not try to engage any sort of conversation with him, but watched him during the whole meal, full of wonder. Who was the man ? Would she grow to love him or hate him ? Would the bedding hurt ? Was he good of heart ? Would he be honorable to her and kind to their children ? She barely touched her food. 

The dishes emptied themselves, and everyone had drunk a little bit more than their fair share. Men were singing bawdy songs when some of her father's men began to call for the bedding. Soon enough the whole room was rushing to the couples, and Catelyn could only see, but not hear Lysa wailing over the shouts as she saw her being carried across the room by several northmen and men of the Vale. 

There were hands upon her touching her inappropriately, both strangers and men she knew. She felt her gown tear and a sob escaped her throat unbidden. Her feet left the ground and she saw her husband's jerkin falling on the floor behind her − he was being undressed by her maidens. Soon they were both dragged to their chambers, and her lord husband slammed the door in the faces of men trying to force their way in.

\- My lady, I am sorry for …  
He stopped, his bare chest heaving. She sat on the bed, and tried not to think about all the men outside the doors. Eddard Stark walked closer, and for half a heartbeat she thought his cheeks were pink, shy as a maiden. His eyes locked on hers, and the rest was left unsaid. 

His hands were clumsy as he unlaced what was left of her gown. They lingered on her as he kissed her gently, longer than he had before. Her heart was fluttering and she felt goosebumps all over her body as he pulled her dress over her head − a task made easy by the fact that the gown was torn in pieces.  
\- My lady, you are shivering. Would you lie under the furs ?  
She nodded and tucked herself in the bed. She watched him untie his breeches, and blushed heavily. He joined her in the bed that was going to be theirs for the fortnight, and his touches were soft and awkward, as if he was unsure of what to do, but knew that it needed to be done. 

The bedding was not something that was proper to mention to a highborn lady, and Catelyn knew little and less about the ways to please a man. But Eddard Stark did not seem to need her to do anything, much less something she was not comfortable with. His caresses were soft as a feather, and he rolled on top of her, leaning on his elbows to avoid weighing down on her. The kiss he gave her was gentle, much more gentle than she thought he would be, much more gentle than his wolf banner suggested he could be. 

She looked up at him as he entered her, and very soon his eyes turned to hers, as if begging her to react in some way. Hesitantly, she tried to give him a shy smile, biting her lip. It would be most improper to cry out in pain. It did not hurt that much, not really, it just stung, and looking at him gave her a surprising sensation of quiet. She could see in his eyes that passion did not animate him so much as duty. At least, he was trying to accommodate her, and for that she was thankful. We are man and wife, and we have become one flesh. Cursed be the one who comes between us. He looked at her all the while, and she felt his hand playing with a tendril of hair at her ear. My hair, she thought, he loves my hair. 

Not a word was spoken between them, but she read in his eyes everything she needed to know, or mayhaps was it only what she wanted to see. She saw the promise of a lifetime of trying to get to know each other and do their duty as husband and wife, the promise of respect and acceptance, and maybe one day love. She saw the sorrow of a man who had lost a brother and took his place as lord and husband. She saw a man who was as tender as he was harsh. And finally she saw his need veiling his grey eyes as he quickened the pace and spilled himself inside her. When he rolled from her, she reached out to him and put her hand in his. He kissed it.  
\- I thank you, my lady, he said.  
What for, she did not know, and these words were better left unspoken. Was it her maiden's gift ? That was a gift that wives were supposed to give to their husbands. Or was it not to speak about the grief that struck him, not to mention the ghost of Brandon that they could both feel ? Was it because of her hand in his own ? She slid next to him and put her head on his torso. His breath was slow and quiet and it lulled her to sleep.

The fortnight went faster than she thought it would. Her husband was not a talkative man, and even though they shared the bed every night and worked on making an heir each time, they talked very little during his stay. Brandon's or Lyanna's names were of course never pronounced. They briefly talked about Lord Baratheon, whom Eddard loved very much, but most of the time, she did not see him and remained in their bedchambers doing needlework, or planning what would need to be done after the army departure coming up. She had not seen her sister since the wedding. Lysa never left her room. Her handmaiden said that she was unwell and asked that she was left alone.

The morning of the men's departure came. Catelyn watched as the lords Stark, Tully and Arryn commanded their generals in the great hall. Her lord father hugged her tighter than he ever had and wiped a tear from her eye. Lysa was nowhere to be found. It was unacceptable that a wife would not meet her husband leaving, but Catelyn did not ask her father about her. She would deal with her sister later. She was the lady in Riverrun, now, though she was a trout no longer. Her heart stung as Eddard Stark reached her and took her hands in his own.  
\- I trust we will see each other at Winterfell when I return, my lady.  
\- Yes, my lord.  
He leaned into her and kissed her, a chaste kiss that resembled the ones he gave her even during their embraces. His eyes lingered upon her face, and when he kissed her hand and turned around to leave with his men, he never looked back at her.

Back in her own room, Catelyn looked out at the men leaving once more. She was used to her father leaving her, but the pain that clutched her heart as she saw the direwolf banner floating from afar was unknown to her. She prayed to every god she kept. To the Mother above she asked for a blessing, a baby boy to present to her lord husband, and to the Father and the Crone she asked to grant Eddard the wisdom necessary to rule a household and a family. She asked the Smith to bless their home and let them build a family, and the Warrior to guide the steps of those man who had left her that day. Finally, she thanked the Maiden for her quiet wedding night and asked for kind and pure daughters to be born to her. 

She picked up an embroidery work she had started the morning before − a blanket that she meant to trim with direwolves. A baby blanket. The child who would be born unto her would need it once they made it to Winterfell. Her moonblood had not come the previous week, and the maester had admitted that she was most certainly with child. She hummed a quiet hymn to herself as her needle flew over her work, and even though the fear of war knotted her stomach, she found peace in picturing her future life as a woman, wedded and bedded now. She thought of her lord husband and a smile came to her lips. Everything would be alright.


End file.
